I'll Bring You Flowers
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Jim decides right away that he and Bones are going to be friends, but McCoy requires some "wooing".


**I'll Bring You Flowers**

by Swiss

* * *

They met on a shuttlecraft over Riverside, Iowa – a hackney transit town with only three points of interest: a local bar, a shipyard, and about a thousand miles of corn stretching in every direction.

It wasn't an auspicious meeting. At the time, McCoy's hands were clawing over the armrests of his seat until the knuckles showed white, and the straps of his harness were pressing so hard into his chest that he could only take air in short, rapid breaths. Most of his concentration was devoted to keeping his reaction from leaking out, and he wasn't doing a very good job of it if the salty perspiration he could feel on his upper lip was any indication. He was bubbled up all over with cold sweat, feeling every jerk and minute shudder of the aircraft, all while a broken litany shuffled through his brain: _Don't belong here, don't belong here, I don't belong here, goddammnit._

He was working up to an impressive panic attack when, in the middle of the roar of takeoff, an open hand had slammed down over his wrist and clamped down hard. Through the haze of agitation, it took McCoy a moment to recognize his nearest seatmate. Earlier, some unknown instinct had caused him to reach out to this only other person without an insignia. Now Jim Kirk was attached to his arm and was peering him with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Which is exactly when Leonard made good on his earlier threat and vomited all over him.

Kirk had been surprisingly nonchalant about it afterward, and, embarrassed, Leonard had hardly been able to say a decent thing to him for the rest of trip. But if his sudden reticence in any way demoralized his seatmate, it didn't stop the younger man from remained latched onto his arm, making a kind of _pat-pat_ motion with his fingers every so often that leant a sense of companionship Leonard couldn't accept. The safety of isolation was all that was keeping him together recently, and it didn't help that Kirk smelled of puke and his own shame.

After thirty minutes sitting next to the kid, McCoy decided that they could never, ever be friends.

* * *

It was a few weeks before he saw Jim Kirk again. Weeks in which he'd had time to regret the fit of self-flagellation that had caused him to enlist in Starfleet. All around him, he was surrounded by children in uniforms, by regulations and decree. Once he'd had had his own practice, answerable to no one. Now he belonged to Starfleet. He had a rank and responsibility to follow orders. And he had never been very good at following orders.

He was brooding on the subject one afternoon, hunched over a PADD in the middle of campus, when a familiar voice hailed him over the mill of the afternoon crowd. "Bones!"

Bemused, he'd raised his head and watched a tow head pushing his way through the otherwise regular pattern of ambulating pedestrians. There was a strong temptation to simply turn away and pretend that he didn't know this strange kid shouting out nonsensical nicknames and waving his arms like he was directing traffic. However, before he had made a decision to shun or escape, the younger man reached him and once again initiated contact, slamming his hands down against McCoy's shoulders.

"Hey, Bones! Wow, someone taught you grooming!"

McCoy scowled. Considering that the last time he had seen Kirk, he'd looked like someone had chewed on him, he hardly seemed like one to talk. "Get your hands away from my face!" he barked.

His attempt to be unapproachable wasn't effective; Kirk pouted. "What's with the grumpy face, Bones? Military life not agree with you?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, probably because it was so close to the truth. Growling, McCoy began scraping his belongings into his arms, but Jim wasn't ready to let him go. Sliding in front to block the path, he held up his hands.

"Hey, wait. I've been looking all over this place for you, you know. Not that I couldn't have found you sooner, but –" he trailed off, his gaze flitting around the passersby, many of whom where wearing the trim, red skirt favored by the female cadets. Jim waggled his eyebrows. "It's easy to get distracted here."

And quite suddenly, McCoy had all that he could stand. In that one sentence, Kirk had called up all the things he hated so much about Starfleet. This kid was barely out of short pants and already he was so cocky that half the campus probably wanted to sock him in the face. Too brilliant for his own good. Thinking he was God's gift to woman. Pretentious. Vainglorious. It made McCoy's joints start aching, the years weighing down thick on his back. Old. Barely thirty, and he was old.

"Bones?" Jim asked. He was looking concerned again.

"Quit calling me that. We barely know each other!" Leonard snarled as he pushed past the kid, marching off toward the medical complex without waiting to hear another word. At that point, he'd still had some kind of hope that such a rejection was capable of driving away Jim Kirk.

He should have known better. Beneath that macho bullshit, the kid had 'limpet' written all over his forehead.

* * *

Later that same day, McCoy had received a message on his personal PADD.

_Hey, Bones. Sorry about taking you by surprise on campus. I've got a great idea – we should go get something to eat at the mess sometime!_

He had signed it: _Your friend, Jim_. Scowling at the closing fiercely, McCoy punched the delete key, exiling the message to the garbage bin.

* * *

McCoy had no intention whatsoever of meeting Jim at the refectory. He didn't often eat there since his shifts at the hospital usually fell during meal-breaks. Even when he was on the Academy grounds, he preferred the peace and quiet of his quarters. Casual companionship had once been easier for him, but now it was a struggle he wasn't up to. It was better just to be alone.

Which was why it was totally beyond him how, during the one time he showed up in the cafeteria, Jim also appeared. He sidled up beside McCoy's table and plopped down his tray as though they had made an appointment, and greeted the other man with a cheeky, "Hey, Bones," before beginning to stuff his face with a chicken salad McCoy thought looked dubious.

It required an effort to reign in his reaction, which was somewhere between blatant surprise and stunned indignation. "Jim," McCoy ground out. It must have sounded cross, but if he noticed, Kirk gave no indication.

"Classes been going well? Mine are a breeze. You'd think they'd be more difficult."

"You're just taking the introductory classes," McCoy grunted, surprising himself by responding. It only encouraged the kid, who grinned at him as though he'd won a prize.

"Yeah, I know. Still, you'd think they could present just a smidge of a challenge. You know, as a preview of coming attractions."

He was gnawing on the edge of a cookie as spoke, sending crumbs dribbling down onto his plate. Slightly disgusted, McCoy's fork paused on its way to his mouth, long enough to draw attention to its contents.

"Spinach, Bones? Ugh. Here." He shoved the partially masticated cookie towards his face. "It's oatmeal raisin. You can have it."

There was a sense of unreality that hovered around Jim which defied all of Leonard's pre-established patterns of socialization. It was possible that this was the reason why the only thing he could think to say was, "You've already taken a bite out of it."

Kirk took a dubious look at the offending crumbled edge, marked with his teeth. Then, lighting up with a grin that bested a thousand suns, he said, "That's alright. I don't mind eating after you."

McCoy somehow found himself drawn into this ridiculous conversation. "If you keep eating like that in space, you'll end up with a dietary restriction."

Kirk looked scandalized. "I'm not going to get fat. I'm in peek condition! My physical prowess is unsurpassed, ask anyone."

"Anyone, huh? How about I ask the cadet that smashed in that pouty face of yours? You really ought to get a salad."

The younger man prodded his sandwich, frowning slightly. "This is salad."

Rolling his eyes, McCoy decided to let it drop. After all, it wasn't as if Kirk's eating habits were any of his business, and God bless the poor sod whose responsibility it eventually became. He could tell just by looking at this kid that he was one of those rare disasters who truly needed a personal physician. He'd probably end up a smear of jelly on his first landing party.

After that, the dialogue descended into a mostly one-sided oration as the younger man outlined the next three years according to Jim Kirk. It was the first time that McCoy would hear this harangue about his eminent future captaincy. It was illustrated by a great many wild gesticulations and a strange kind of razor focus that overtook the usual misted cacophony of his eyes. By the end of it, McCoy decided that he had to grant the kid one thing: no one could accuse him of not having goals.

* * *

He was in his second or third cycle of REM sleep later that same evening when he was awoken by a buzz. Staggering upright, he activated the door controls. They slid back, revealing a blistery white Jim Kirk, propped awkwardly against the call button.

"Getoffa there," McCoy grunted, yanking him away from the buzzer. However, instead of standing upright, Kirk listed dangerously. Now that he was paying attention, McCoy could feel the heat pouring off of him.

Without so much as an explanation or a hello, Kirk staggered past him into the room. He made a wavering line toward the nearest cushioned surface, falling on it face first and issuing forth a distinct moan.

"Get off of my bed," McCoy demanded, though not with the force he usually mustered. He nudged he prostrate body. "_Jim_."

Squirming, Jim nestled even further into the mess of blankets. His pale face was blanched against them, and he was holding onto his middle with a grimace that didn't appear feigned. "Bones," he articulated. "Stomach hurts."

McCoy briefly considered hefting him bodily from the bed and chucking him out into the corridor. Instead, he found himself grunting as he propped the kid into a sitting position. "Easy," he commented as Jim leaning heavily against him, checking pulse and gauging his temperature at the same time.

Jim let his neck loll. "Don't feel so good."

"Yer going be find, Kid," McCoy assured him. "Probably just indigestion from that chicken salad I warned you about. Is it possible you ate something that you have an intolerance for?"

Jim opened his mouth to answer, but the words never made it out. Instead, he heaved violently over the front of McCoy's Old Miss sweatshirt.

This narrowed the field of conversation considerably, and Leonard spent most of the next hour holding Jim's head over the toilet bowl to keep him from falling face-first into his own vomit. After the worst was over, he put the kid to bed with a wet washcloth over his face and a glass of soda near at hand. In _his_ bed.

Sitting up at three o'clock in the morning, wearily checking Jim's fever, McCoy had time to contemplate that he was going to have a really hard time convincing anyone, himself included, that he and Jim barely knew each other. Moreover, now that he was in the door, Leonard had a sneaking suspicion that he was never going to get the kid out again.

"Don't think you're going to win me over by appealing to my nurturing side," he muttered.

It was an empty threat.

* * *

It was some time later when the flowers came. It had been a long shift, and by the time Leonard staggered home, he was feeling crabby and brittle with exhaustion. His roommate was holding the bouquet when he palmed open the door. "You had a delivery," he said, handing over the bundle when McCoy approached. He was obviously attempting to keep his voice casual. "The note says they're from some guy named Jim."

Jim came by himself the following morning, trailing in his jacket on the floor and kicking off his boots uninvited. When he saw the flowers, his face lit up. "You put them in water! They're nice, aren't they, Bones?"

"Why the hell are you sending me flowers?"

"Well, they were a present. I tried to think of something else, but the only thing I could come up with was alcohol, and I think you might have an unhealthy relationship with–" He stopped when he saw the expression on Leonard's face, and instead asked, "What, don't you like them?"

"I'm not going to forgive you for my roommate's current misunderstandings," McCoy said by way of answer. "Of which he has many, mostly as a direct result of your nonsense."

"That doesn't have to be a problem, you know," Jim coaxed. "All it would take is a tweak of the Academy's residential records–"

"No."

"I practically live here anyway!"

"No."

"You're harder to win over than a woman, Bones," Jim complained. And if Leonard felt any measure of satisfaction over that remark, he kept it to himself.

* * *

They were in the mess again today, fairly early, before the morning rush. Still looking slightly dazed, Kirk trudged over with a plate of fried eggs and ham as well as Bones' coffee. He waited until Leonard had it between his hands and had taken his first, restorative sip before he started talking.

"Nervous about your physical competency practicum, Bones?"

"None of your business, Kid."

Jim gamely protested. "Don't you think that as your future captain I should have an invested interest in your abilities? No? Okay, how about as your friend?"

Leonard concentrated on the aroma wafting from his mug. "We aren't friends."

"We've vomited on each other. Don't you think that establishes a kind of intimacy?"

McCoy snorted, but it was a less unfriendly noise than he would have made a few months ago. "You were exposed to a vacuum as a child, weren't you?"

"Bones!"

"No, you're right. It wouldn't account for the socialization issues."

"Come on, you know you're going to explore the galaxy with me." Jim took an especially large forkful of butter and spread it over his bread. McCoy made faces as he took an obnoxiously large bite, chewing noisily.

"Absolutely not."

Jim whined, "Bones."

Nonetheless, McCoy was firm. "I said no."

"You'll change your mind," Jim said confidently.

Leonard grunted, ignoring the prediction as he did most of Jim's outrageous claims, but unlike before there was a kind of begrudging fondness. There had been a time when he couldn't have imagined the two of them being friends, but Jim was invasive like that. And while he might be an irrepressible brat wholly incapable of understanding the word "no", there weren't many who would take the time to win over a crabby, jaded doctor with more baggage than an Orion ambassador on a month-long sabbatical.

When it came down to it, as far as friends went, Leonard could have done worse.


End file.
